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Title: A Duel in the Dark: An Original Farce, in One Act
Author: J. Stirling Coyne
Release date: September 19, 2015 [eBook #50012]
Most recently updated: October 22, 2024
Language: English
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*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK A DUEL IN THE
DARK: AN ORIGINAL FARCE, IN ONE ACT ***
A DU EL
IN TH E DAR K.
An original Farce,
IN ONE ACT.
BY J. STIRLING COYNE,
AUTHOR OF
“My Wife’s Daughter,” “Binks the Bagman,” “Separate Maintenance,”
“How to settle Accounts with your Laundress,” “Did you ever send your
Wife to Camberwell,”
&c. &c. &c.
THOMAS HAILES LACY,
WELLINGTON STREET, STRAND,
LONDON.
First Performed at the Theatre Royal Haymarket,
On Saturday, January 31st, 1852.
CHARACTERS.
MR. GREGORY GREENFINCH Mr. BUCKSTONE.
MRS. GREENFINCH
COUNTESS DE RAMBUTEAU } Mrs. FITZWILLIAM.
CHARLEY BATES
BETSY Mrs. CAULFIELD.
WAITER Mr. EDWARDS.
COSTUMES.
Mr. GREENFINCH.—Green coat, light blue trowsers, and French travelling cap.
Mrs. GREENFINCH.—Fawn polka jacket, waistcoat and skirt.
COUNTESS DE RAMBUTEAU.—Loose travelling pelisse, bonnet and green veil.
CHARLEY BATES.—Blue frock coat and white trowsers.
BETSY.—Travelling dress and servant’s dress.
WAITER.—Gendarme suit.
SCENE lies at a Hotel at Dieppe.
Time in Representation, 50 minutes.
A DUEL IN THE DARK!
SCENE.—A handsomely furnished Apartment on the ground floor of a
Hotel at Dieppe. A French window at back opening on a garden.
Door, 2 E. L. Door, 3 E. L. A large stove, L. between the two doors.
Door, 2 E. R. Easy chair near door, R. Tables, R. and L. C. at back;
bottle of brandy with glasses on table, L. Chairs, &c. Two lighted
candles on.
Enter GREENFINCH, carrying bandbox, large travelling cloak, carpet
bag and umbrella, L. 3 E.
GREEN. Well now this is something like an adventure. (putting
down the umbrella and bandbox, R.) There’s a romantic mystery
attached to me that I can’t unravel, in fact I feel myself like a
tangled penn’orth of thread; the more I try to clear myself the more
complicated I become. Let me calmly consider my singular position.
(throws the cloak on the easy chair, R. and places the carpet bag
beside it) In the first place here I have arrived at the Hotel d’
Angleterre in Dieppe accompanied by the Countess de Rambuteau—
a real Countess! Poor Mrs. Greenfinch little dreams what a rake I am
—but for a long time I’ve been dying for an aristocratic flirtation—I
have looked at lovely women in the private boxes at the theatres—
and have run after carriages in the park—but all in vain, and now,
startling as the fact may seem, I have been for the last thirty hours
the travelling companion of a French Countess, and have shared her
post-chaise from Paris: when I say shared, I mean the Countess and
her maid took the inside and left me the outside, where I was
exalted to the dickey amongst a miscellaneous assortment of trunks
and bandboxes, by which I have been jolted and jammed till I
haven’t a bone in my body without its particular ache. But the most
extraordinary part of the affair is that I have never yet seen the
Countess’s face, for she has always concealed it from me beneath a
thick veil. However that’s nothing, there’s a secret sympathy by
which I think I could discover a pretty face under a piecrust. Hah!
here she comes, and now for the tender revelation—the soft
confession—the blushing avowal—the—
Enter MRS. GREENFINCH, 2 E. R., in a travelling dress closely veiled,
she carries in her hand a lady’s walking basket.
Ah, my charming Countess, at length after a painful—I mean a
delightful journey—we have arrived in Dieppe, and now permit me to
gaze on those lovely features.
MRS. G. (retires as he approaches) No, no, je ne permittez pas;
nevare, not at all, Monsieur Grinfeench.
GREEN. Dear, Countess, take pity on me. (aside) What delightful
accents! She told me she could speak English fluently, and she does.
Am I never to see your face, dear Countess? Oh! have pity on me.
MRS. G. Oui, you sall ordere diner toute de suite.
GREEN. Dinner? certainly, Countess.
Exit 3 E. L.
BETSY. (peeping in at door, R.) Is he gone, mum?
MRS. G. Yes, Betsy, you may come in. (lays the basket she carries
on table, L. and puts up her veil)
BETSY. (enters by door, R.) Well, mum, does he suspect nothing
yet?
MRS. G. Nothing. He has not yet seen my face—but if he had, I
think this red wig, these spectacles, and this cravat would
completely prevent his recognizing me.
BETSY. He little thinks, mum, ’tis his own lawful wife he’s running
away with instead of a fine foreign Countess.
MRS. G. Oh, Betsy, when I think of that, I could tear his eyes out.
A man, Betsy, that I thought the most faithful creature woman ever
was blessed with, to deceive me so. A working model of a husband
that I may say I made out of nothing.
BETSY. Ah, mum, I know what husbands is made of! I was once
accidentally married myself for three weeks to a sea cap’n, who took
me, mum, as his mate—but I diskivered I was only his second mate,
for he’d got another wife alive, mum—and so he slipped hisself
through the wedding ring that way. Oh! mum, husbands isn’t to be
trusted no ways.
MRS. G. ’Twas your experience and advice, Betsy, that put me
upon this plan of trying Mr. Greenfinch’s fidelity. Before he went to
Paris about that legacy left him by his aunt, there wasn’t a more
dutiful little husband in Peckham Rye.
BETSY. No, more there wasn’t, mum. But after he’d been a month
in Paris, he wrote to say he’d got into the hands of the French
lawyers, and couldn’t return so soon as he expected.
MRS. G. Upon which I resolved to run over to Paris, if ’twas only
for a day—for I thought he must be miserable without his wife.
BETSY. A very popular delusion amongst women, mum.
MRS. G. And so as you know, Betsy, I took you with me and
crossed to Boulogne. What I suffered from the roughness of the
waves and the custom-house officers I need not repeat. I didn’t
however think of anything but the joyful surprise it would be to Mr.
Greenfinch when I should drop suddenly like a lump of sugar out of
heaven into his solitary tea.
BETSY. Yes, mum, but you know I had my suspicions that it wasn’t
the lawyers kept master in Paris—so I persuaded you to take
lodgings opposite the hotel where he was stopping, and keep a
watchful eye on his proceedings from the window, with your veil
down.
MRS. G. Yes, Betsy, that was certainly your plan,—and what has
been the consequence? The very first day my gentleman kissed his
hand to me—the second day he performed a love pantomime at his
window for my diversion—and the third day he sent me a
daguerreotype portrait of himself backed by a Westphalia ham.
BETSY. And before the week was out you had induced him to run
away with you.
MRS. G. I’ll never forgive him that.
BETSY. Of course you won’t—you’ve too much spirit to forgive any
man, much less a husband. Now, mum, if you’ll help me in a little
plan I’ve hit upon, I think we’ll torment him to that degree that he’ll
never hear a Countess mentioned without trembling.
MRS. G. I’ll do anything, Betsy, to make the little wretch miserable.
BETSY. Well then, mum, this is my plan.
GREENFINCH speaks outside, L. 3 E.
MRS. G. Hist, I hear him returning; run into my room and I’ll come
to you presently. (draws down her veil)
Exit BETSY, 2 E. R.
Enter GREENFINCH, 3 E. L.
GREEN. I’ve ordered dinner at five; and now, my charming
Countess—mysterious being, whom I have loved distractedly for
three long weeks through that envious veil—permit me. (about to
remove her veil, she motions him to desist) Well I won’t; delicacy
forbids intrusion. However, I hope I may not be considered
particularly inquisitive, if I beg to be informed why you and I should
be here in Dieppe under such mysterious circumstances.
MRS. G. Oh, certainment, Monsieur Grinfeench, I sall confess to
you dat I vas frappè vis your mug—dat is your superbe countenance
in de vindere of your hotel.
GREEN. (aside) Struck by my superb countenance! a clear case of
fascination. My dear Countess, it is no less extraordinary that
whenever you were sitting in your balcony, I generally found myself
flattening my nose against the centre pane of my window.
MRS. G. Oui, oui, I did regard your flat nose vare mosh, en
attendant, it happen I did find myself in a position tres embarrasant
—a situation of danger; I was in want of a friend—un ami.
GREEN. And you thought of me.
MRS. G. Oui, you were at de top of my mind—dat is, uppermost in
my thoughts.
GREEN. Tender confession! and then you wrote to me this dear
little note. (produces a note and kisses it) Imagine the indescribable
emotion I experienced in my interior when I opened it and read
these lines. (reads) “Interesting stranger, I am not insense to your
merits, but circumstances demand secresy. I shall be wait for you
this evening at nine o’clock in a post carriage outside the Barriere
d’Enfer.—PAULINE, Countess de Rambuteau.” I hastened accordingly
to the barrier at the hour named.
MRS. G. Vare I did attend, as vas appoint.
GREEN. Yes, but instead of inviting me to take a seat beside you, I
was lifted by two fellows, whose muscular developments forbade
any opposition on my part, into the dickey of the carriage—the
postillion cracked his whip, away we started—and that is all I know
about the affair.
MRS. G. Ha, ha! I fear I have trespass on your complaisance, your
vat you call spooney disposition—dat is, your good nature.
GREEN. Countess, my good nature is public property like
Kennington Common—you can’t trespass on it. Is there any other
way I can be serviceable to you?
MRS. G. Oui, dere is one oder little ting; vil you permit me, vile in
dis maison, to be apellez your femme, your best half of de vorst—to
be called Madame Grinfeench?
GREEN. Madame:—in English that means Missus—Mrs. Greenfinch!
MRS. G. Oui. I have particulere reason for my request.
GREEN. Hem! hem! Perhaps, Countess, you are not aware that
there’s a previous Mrs. Greenfinch at this moment on the British
shores; a splendid woman, though I say it, who sits like a pensive
dove mourning for her absent mate at Peckham Rye.
MRS. G. (aside) There’s some good in him still. Oh dat is no
obelisk in de vay. I go to-morrow in de packey bote, and sall only be
your little rib for a little time.
GREEN. Why if I thought it was only for a little time I might.
(aside) She’s a lovely creature no doubt, and as Mrs. G. can never
know anything of my delinquency—pooh! what’s there to be afraid
of? (to her) Well, Countess, I can refuse nothing to your sex—
consider yourself as the temporary Mrs. Greenfinch.
MRS. G. Merci, mon ami. (aside) The atrocious wretch!
GREEN. Now that point’s settled, may I not in the profane
language of poetic fiction be permitted to feast these longing eyes
on those heavenly features?
MRS. G. Ah! you persuade me what you like you leetle rascal.
GREEN. Gracious condescension! So from the face of heaven the
cloud withdraws and (she has raised her veil; seeing her face he
starts) and—ahem! the face of heaven. (aside) The Countess’s face
don’t improve upon close inspection. I never liked red hair, and I
hate green spectacles.
MRS. G. You like my pheezog?—it is your taste? Ah! oui, now I sall
leave you to change my toilette—restez vous ici, and n’oubliez pas—
don’t forget I am Madame Grinfeench.
Exit R.
GREEN. Shall I ever forget it? never! Hem! The Countess adores
me that’s clear, and if she hadn’t red hair, she’d be a remarkably fine
woman. But she may dye her hair:—Gad, so she may; its only dying
for love after all.
MRS. G. (returning) Ah! I did forget—you must prenez garde—be
vide awake, and take care of our secret, for de most little cause of
suspect vill coupez both our neck at one slice.
Exit R.
GREEN. What does she mean? I feel I’m up to the ears in some
terrible mystery. I don’t know whether ’tis conscience or cowardice,
but my sympathy for the Countess is evaporating very rapidly, in fact
I’m beginning to feel dreadfully uncomfortable here—why should she
want to pass as my wife? Why does she want to escape from
France? Eh? Echo returns no answer to its correspondent! (sees the
basket on the table, L.) Hah! here’s her basket she has forgotten,
perhaps it may contain something to clear up this mystery. (takes
basket off table) Bless me, ’tis very heavy for its size, what can she
have in it? (feeling the basket) ’Tis not a smelling bottle, nor it can’t
be a case of razors—Countesses don’t usually shave. I shouldn’t
wonder if it was—no, no, it’s—eh? what is it then? (draws a pistol
from the basket) Ha—a—oh! A p-p-pistol! Oh, dear! there’s more in
this than meets the eye!—Why does she travel with these deadly
weapons? Hah! A horrid thought flashes across my tortured brain—
perhaps she’s Abd el Kader in disguise, or more horrible still she
maybe a female bandit intending to make me her unsuspecting
victim; murder me perhaps in my sleep; she looks as if she could do
it. (MRS. G. appears watching at door, R.) Oh, lord! I’ll go this
moment and inform the police.
MRS. G. (entering and intercepting him) Arrétez! Stop!
GREEN. (starting) Ah!
MRS. G. I have entendez vous.
GREEN. Oh, ha—I—I—I merely—ha, ha! You perceive I was——
MRS. G. You vas go to betray me; mais you perceive dis little
machine? (produces a pistol from her pocket)
GREEN. Oh, oh!—distinctly, Countess.
MRS. G. Madame Grinfeench!
GREEN. I beg pardon, Madame Grinfeench. Pray oblige me by
pointing the other end of that article this way. I’ve an uncommonly
weak head, and couldn’t stand anything from that quarter.
MRS. G. Prenez garde, then how you betray de confiance I have
put into you?
GREEN. What confidence? I haven’t the most distant idea of the
object for which I have been brought here.
MRS. G. Den I sall vispare at your ear dat you are flying from
justice with a denounced leader of a secret club.
GREEN. Me!—a Greenfinch flying from justice!—good gracious!
what do you mean?
MRS. G. Ecoutez donc! de police break in on our meeting—de
officier seize me to take me to quod.
GREEN. And what did you do?
MRS. G. Bang! shoot him through the nob—den one, two, tree
jump out of de vindère.
GREEN. Shot a police officer! (aside) I’m paralysed!
MRS. G. Dey have offer large reward for my take; but if I voyager
as your femme, I may echappér—bolt avay! But if ve are catch, ve
vill die nobly—oui, mon Grinfeench, on de same scaffold—togedder
ve vill hop de twig! (clasps him in her arms)
GREEN. Her English is not very elegant, but it’s very expressive.
(faintly) I feel the guillotine hanging over me; I shall be sent back to
Peckham Rye a head shorter than I left it.
MRS. G. Entendez bien that your safety as well as mine depends
on your taisez vous. Remember dat from my chamber dere I can
watch, and ecoutez all dat sall pass here—den, if you go to spleet, I
sall sew you up—bang! Comprenez vous?
(shewing pistol, and exit, R.)
GREEN. Yes, I comprenez vous—my safety depends on my taisez
vous. What a dreadful situation is mine! If this is having an
aristocratic flirtation, I don’t care how soon I get democratic in my
penchants again. This terrible Countess is a perfect masked battery;
I shouldn’t wonder if she had a Colt’s revolver inside her parasol,
and that a cartouche box did duty for a certain popular appendix to
the female figure. I declare I feel quite nervous and agitated—I’ll go
and smoke a cigar in the garden. (takes a cigar from his case) Hah! I
wish they may ever catch me running away with a Countess again.
Exit through window at back, to garden, and disappears.
BETSY looks from room R., and then enters, carrying a small brown
trunk with an address card on the top.
BETSY. (speaking to MRS. G. inside) All’s clear, mum!
Enter MRS. G. from room R.
He’s smoking his cigar in the garden. Now here I lays the trap that’s
to catch him—your trunk, with your address upon it. (puts trunk in
centre of room)
MRS. G. So that when he sees it, he may be aware that I am here
in my proper person.
BETSY. Exactly, mum; and as there’s a way by a passage at the
back of the hotel from your room there, (pointing R.) to this
apartment on the other side. (points to door 2 E. L.) Nothing can be
easier than to come out of that door as the Countess, and out of
that door as Mrs. Greenfinch, according as your game goes.
MRS. G. I understand perfectly—but I see him returning. Let’s get
away. (they return into room R.)
Enter GREENFINCH, C., from garden, smoking a cigar.
GREEN. Poo-ah! There’s nothing like a cigar for puffing away fear—
poo-ah! I feel a deal more composed now—poo-ah!—cooler and
more determined—poo-ah! I’ve been bracing up my courage by
repeating that heroic maxim—“The brave man dies many times—a
coward never dies at all.” Stay—I don’t believe I’ve got it right—but
it don’t matter. (stumbles over the trunk) What’s here? umph! a
trunk! Bless me! surely I know it: that brown leather is familiar to
me. Hah! here’s the owner’s address on a card. (drops on his knees
to examine it, and reads in a tone of intense alarm) “Mrs.
Greenfinch, Passenger.” O—a—ah! That’s her writing—and she’s
here!
Enter MRS. GREENFINCH, R.; GREENFINCH’S head sinks on the trunk.
MRS. G. Que faites vous ici, mon cher Grinfeench?
GREEN. Oh! Countess, we’re lost.
MRS. G. Ha! perdu! Ave de poliss come?
GREEN. No, but my wife has. See here! (reads address on trunk)
“Mrs. Greenfinch, Passenger to Paris.” That’s her writing after six
lessons. (in a suppressed voice) I know she’s somewhere in the
vicinity of this brown leather trunk.
MRS. G. (coolly) Eh bien! you know that a man can have but one
wife at one time.
GREEN. The law in its wisdom and great mercy says so.
MRS. G. Justement—I am it.
GREEN. You? Oh, yes, Countess—I beg pardon, Mrs. Greenfinch
pro tempore; but as the original Mrs. G. has turned up unexpectedly,
what am I to do?
MRS. G. (aside) Now I’ll prove him. Say that you did nevare see
her.
GREEN. How! disown Mrs. G., and turn my back upon my marriage
certificate? (aside) She’s a Mephistopheles in petticoats.
MRS. G. It but want de courage.
GREEN. But I’ve no courage; one look from Mrs. G. would dissolve
me into my own wellingtons.
MRS. G. If you tombè, I sall be close to prop you up. Den stand
firm on your epingles—your pins; courage—entendez; ne funkez pas!
Exit, R. door, showing pistol.
GREEN. This is what I call a tremendous situation. Deny my wife,
and such a wife as Mrs. G.: a woman that won’t be denied. How
shall I ever attempt it? And if I don’t, there’s the Countess prepared
to shoot me through the head! Oh, dear! I must have some brandy
to screw up my nerves. (goes to a side table, pours brandy into a
glass, and drinks) Hah! that revives me and brings back my courage,
which was sneaking away in spite of me. (drinks) There! nothing like
brandy. (MRS. G. is heard singing in room, L.) Hah! that’s her voice—
the voice of my wife—that’s her high G, and that’s her shake. I can’t
be mistaken in her shake, for it makes me shiver all over. Brandy!
(drinks) Hah! I must be stern and resolved—the Countess has her
eye upon me, and my wife’s coming. Never mind, I’m prepared for
the worst. More brandy! (drinks) I feel myself growing desperately
profligate—I’m becoming a brick. (drinks) I don’t care a straw for the
world in general, nor for Mrs. G. in particular. Here she comes!
Enter BETSY, 2 E. L.
No, it’s only her maid Betsy.
BETSY. La! it surely never can be my master! Why, Mr. Greenfinch,
sir—bless me! who could have thought of meeting you? Well, this
will be a surprise to missus! (runs to L. 2 E., and speaks in) Oh,
mum, make haste, please! here’s master—here he is, mum—he is,
indeed—quite nat’ral, mum.
Enter MRS. GREENFINCH, 2 E. L., in her own attire, hastily.
MRS. G. Who? Your master, my dear Gregory? Ah! ’tis he, indeed!
(rushing to embrace him)
GREEN. He—hem! (aside, and turning away) She has me.
MRS. G. (L.) Good heavens, Gregory! Why, Gregory! Mister
Greenfinch, don’t you know me?
GREEN. (C.) A—a—hum! I haven’t the pleasure of your
acquaintance, ma’am.
MRS. G. What, sir? Don’t know me?
BETSY. (L.) Nor me, sir?
GREEN. I never saw either of you before in my life.
BETSY. Well, if that’s not audacious!
GREEN. Don’t be impertinent, young woman.
BETSY. Oh, mum, he calls me a young woman!
GREEN. (aside) More brandy. (goes to table and drinks)
MRS. G. (apart to BETSY) Oh! Betsy, he’s more depraved than I
could have imagined. I know I shan’t be able to keep my temper.
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